


It’s The Heaven Of A Human Spirit Ringing.

by fireafterall



Series: Wasteland, Baby! [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, I Decided To Write A Fic For Every Song On Hozier’s Wasteland Baby!, Nina Cried Power, Other, Post-Canon, Protests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 02:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireafterall/pseuds/fireafterall
Summary: Without Heaven monitoring every move, Aziraphale finds his purpose in protesting. Crowley finds his purpose in watching Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wasteland, Baby! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545565
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	It’s The Heaven Of A Human Spirit Ringing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on my last fic, they were especially appreciated as that story was very personal and important to me so the kind reception really meant a lot.
> 
> I have decided (to try) to write a Good Omens fic for every song on Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album and this is the first one based on Nina Cried Power, which the title is also from. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always encouraging if you feel so inclined to leave them and I hope you all have a lovely day/night :).

After the almostgeddon, Aziraphale changed.

Crowley had watched the angel love all of humanity with all of his celestial being for six thousand years. As it was, in fact, his entire job description, this was to be expected, but after the world nearly ended it seemed that Aziraphale, somehow, miraculously, cared even more.

The two of them couldn’t walk down the street, any street, at any time of the day, without the angel stopping to give someone spare change, or to miracle up a blanket for someone stuck out in the cold, to help a lost child find their mother, give words of encouragement to someone who had that empty look behind their eyes, or do any other kind thing, give any other kind word, that a human being could possibly need. 

It was extremely kind, if not slightly inconveniencing, and exactly what the demon expected of Aziraphale.

Still, Crowley marveled at this wonderful creature who seemed unable to give enough.

Without the monitoring of Gabriel and the rest of “upstairs”, it seemed the angel had finally found his purpose. It wasn’t just neighborly kindness and peace though; no, where Aziraphale had really found himself was in the protest.

It began when Crowley finally taught the angel to use the internet (there had been much resistance but, in the end, Aziraphale had caved to the lure of online cooking videos). As everyone knew, in 2019 the internet was basically just a cesspool of terrible news and the worst people arguing about the worst things and all of it going on forever. The internet was badness without end.

Everyone knew, that is, except Aziraphale.

And Crowley marveled, that after all these years on Earth, the angel’s heart could still break over humans.

He had worried the angel would care less for them now; that his own stupid insistence on Aziraphale using a computer for no damn reason would ruined God’s kindest creation.

But it didn’t.

Aziraphale took in everything terrible and decided to change it and when Crowley next saw the angel, he was on his way out the door to join the people protesting modern slavery in London’s streets.

The demon tagged along of course.

To that protest and the many, many that followed.

Crowley always marveled at how much Aziraphale could care.

Between the two of them the angel had never been the passionate one, though filled with perhaps more fervor than an outsider would observe, but now, in all these places… 

It didn’t matter if it was a march for queer rights, or against fracking, or any other cause the angel deemed worthy of his time.

He fought. He fought so damn hard for all of them.

His miracles cleared the streets for protesters and kept them safe. And sometimes harmlessly tripped up counter protesters. Often, he came home with people he had found who needed a place to stay, and anyone was always welcome to sleep on the floor of the bookshop.

So Crowley marveled.

And came with him too.

He had been among the radical before, but never like this. Crowley had fought for the fighting in and of itself; Aziraphale fought instead for the peace that followed.

Most of the time, the demon stayed with him now.

Nearly every morning they woke up, together, and joined in with whoever was willing to fight for something, someone, somepeople. 

And on days with no marches, they volunteered; fed the homeless, helped new mothers, mentored troubled teenagers, anything. It should have been exhausting but it wasn’t.

Every night they fell into bed together and Crowley was grateful every time.

Watching the love of his life as he worked his arms into his tan overcoat, Crowley couldn’t help but think that the angel really shouldn’t be nearly so kind as he was.

The way the other angels had treated him was abhorrent, and yet somehow, in spite of everything, he thought of nothing but helping humanity.

Crowley watched him and marveled, at the smartest kindest most caring angel— 

“Dear, what are you thinking?”

“Hm, what?”

Aziraphale smiled as he stopped in his tracks to look at the demon, “You were staring at me and it looked like you were thinking something, so I just want to know what it was.”

His lovely angel.

“I was thinking that you’re exceptionally beautiful, and interesting, and amazing—”

The angel rolled his eyes, affectionately, of course, as he began to walk towards the door again, “Oh stop it dear, you don’t have to tease me I just wanted to know what you were thinking that’s all.”

Crowley walked to the doorway Aziraphale had almost reached and took him by the shoulders.

“And kind. Especially kind,” the angel was blushing under his compliments and it was everything. “And I am always  _ astounded _ that someone treated so badly by, by the people who should have cared for him…”

Crowley hadn’t planned to say all this this morning but honestly fuck it. He loved Aziraphale and he  _ meant  _ it. He meant every word.

“That someone who wasn’t shown kindness by angels or humanity could somehow end up kinder than both.”

Thinking back on what Aziraphale had gone through and what that had led him to think about himself, Crowley, a very heartless demon indeed, almost began to tear up but the angel was smiling.

“Of course I had someone be kind to me dear, I had you.”

Still smiling, he reached up to briefly brush the demon’s cheek, then turned and headed for the door; turned back.

“Are you coming dear? We mustn't be late for the climate strike and you know it’s almost a fifteen minute walk.”

So Crowley followed.

And he marveled. 

  
  



End file.
